Ghosts that are Girls that Cry
by gray.hazel
Summary: The ghost’s humor stopped abruptly and her lower lip trembled. And Bill found out rather quickly that there was something he was afraid of more than ghosts.. it was ghosts that were girls.. and even more scary, ghosts that were girls that cried.


Disclaimer: Harry Potter not mine

Note: This was written for the Bill Weasley challenge by . I picked number 39 which ended up being Moaning Myrtle. It was a bit difficult so I'm glad I was even able to come up with this! Enjoy!

Voyeur Ghost Girls that Cry

"One..Two..Three" came the sing song voice of a first year Ravenclaw, her eyes covered by her own hands, back turned to the rest of the Great Hall.

It was Christmas holiday there were only a few students left, but those who were had decided upon a game of Hide and Seek within the castle walls, an idea that the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, found greatly pleasing if the extra twinkle in his eyes was any indication. He had even gone so far as to put forth a prize for the student who could go the longest without being found. They had all been given a Christmas trinket to alert the professors at least of their location with a special feature that would allow the students to communicate with them if they got into a tight spot.

This was the first Christmas that Bill Weasley would be spending away from home. His younger siblings had contracted a rather nasty and contagious strain of the flu and his Mother and Father had deemed it best if he were to stay well away from the illness.

"Sixteen.. Seventeen..Eighteen."

Bill took off, without looking back, skidding out the Great Hall doors and heading down the corridor. His bright red hair, slightly longer than what his Mum would like, stood out among the students alongside him. The others veered off at several junctures. Taking the stairs he found himself at his destination rather quickly, the small ornament of a house elf held tightly in his hand. His breath came in short pants as he fought to gain it back, although the thought of stepping past the door in front of him did nothing to help in that matter.

He knew the reputation of this room, but was willing to take that risk, if only in order to win. Bill was nothing if not competitive. He had to be with so many siblings and to have something of his own would be wonderful. Something new even! Even his robes were secondhand and his wand owned previously by his uncle, Fabian. His mother had been near tears when she had given it to him.

Bill was not afraid of much. In fact, he considered himself to be one of, if not the, bravest Gryffindor first years, and by default, also of any of the bravest first years at Hogwarts. However, he did fear one thing, it was quite irrational really, but he was afraid of ghosts. Ever since his experience with the bloody baron earlier in the year, he hadn't been able to be alone with one again. Okay, so maybe it was the fear of being alone with a ghost, instead of just the ghosts themselves, though he had almost embarrassed himself the first night Nearly Headless Nick popped up through his mashed potatoes to hover above the dining table.

Taking a deep fortifying breath he pushed past the door and into the girl's bathroom. He hurried into a stall, and climbed onto the toilet seat, his feet drawn up upon it so anyone giving a quick cursory glance beneath the partitions would fail to see him.

He sat there for some time, his hand clutched around the ornament in his hand, the pointy pewter nose digging into his palm. Bill slowly started to relax, the tension in his shoulder easing and he gave a small relieved laugh. Perhaps Myrtle, like all the others in the castle, was off making merry with her own ghostly friends. His laugh though was overridden by a sob that was not his own, and then a head popped up where his knees should have been, and he could see his knees, and oh merlin! He scrambled back, now standing on top of the toilet seat, back pressed against the cool stone behind him. And he did something he would never ever in a million years admit, even under pain of death, he screamed. Or rather he tried to scream, it was more like a squeak, as a full blow shriek would not emit from his throat.

The ghostly figure of a girl hovered in front of him, the tears still running down her cheeks. However, as she took in the first year in front of her, her expression changed.

"You're afraid of me?" Myrtle's eyes grew wide before she laughed, a high pitched giggling that hurt Bill's ears. "That's so silly!"

"I'm not afraid." he glowered, brown eyes narrowed beneath furrowed red brows. "I was just.. Startled!" He went on the defensive. "Why are you haunting the bathroom anyway, that's kind of creepy, isn't it?"

The ghost's humor stopped abruptly and her lower lip trembled. And Bill found out rather quickly that there was something he was afraid of more than ghosts.. it was ghosts that were girls.. and even more scary, ghosts that were girls that cried.

Seeing as the only way to get out of the stall was to walk through her, he lowered himself once again to sit on the tank of the toilet. "Er don't cry, I didn't mean it. I'm sure the toilets are a lovely place to haunt?" His voice ended in a questioning note.

Myrtle sniffed. "What are you, a boy, doing in here anyway? I bet you heard of poor pitiful Myrtle, poor moaning Myrtle, that's what they call me, you know, and thought it'd be fun to come in here and make of me." She made that same crying moaning sound again.

"Shh.. Shh!" Bill motioned with his hands for her to keep it down. "I'm hiding!"

Another sniff. "So you aren't here to make fun, then?"

"No." Bill said distractedly, trying to think of a way out of this situation that wouldn't get him caught. He refused to use the trinket to notify the Headmaster that he needed help. How embarrassing!

"What's your name?" Myrtle suddenly demanded.

"Bill.."

"You know, Bill." Myrtle moved just a little bit closer. "I like your hair. It's like the color of the Headmaster's phoenix. He's a nice bird, you know, he sometimes comes and keeps me company. I think he likes me. Do _you _like me? That's why you are visiting me, right?"

Bill stared at her with wide eyes and was just about to give in and notify the headmaster, when a voice called in to the bathroom.

"Hellooo.. I know you're in here. Come on out!" it was the same voice of the girl who had been counting earlier. Myrtle got a rather disconcerted look on her face before she turned around and marched through the stall door.

A small noise of surprise and then, "Oh Myrtle, it's just you. You haven't seen anyone come in, have you?"

Bill held his breath.

"Nope, haven't seen anyone. Are you here to visit me too? You promised you would."

"Erm well not right now, Myrtle."

A sniffle. "Now don't cry, Mo-" the girl's voice stopped abruptly, realizing her slip.

"Moaning Myrtle! That's what you all call me! You don't even ever ask _why _I'm this way!"

"Listen, Myrtle, I don't have _time _for this. I'll ask some other time!"

There was a loud sob and then the sound of rushing water and a shriek. He heard the girl run from the bathroom, before he saw the water in the toilet bowl rising. Myrtle's crying was more faint now as if it were coming from the pipes in the walls.

Biting his lip, Bill jumped down, not caring a bit about the water now standing beneath his shoes. It wouldn't be any time before someone came to investigate why the bathroom had been flooded _again. _ Still Bill gave pause, there was nothing he could do to thank the ghost who was even now currently giving into her grief in the u bend. All he could do was make a promise.

"I promise I'll repay the favor, Myrtle" he said before scurrying out of the bathroom and the thought he might have heard something of an affirmative answer before the door swung shut behind him.

-----------------

Some years later:

Myrtle had many haunts, it wasn't just the second floor girls bathroom, in fact she visited many other places were water fixtures could be found, such as the prefect's bathroom. This was, in fact ,her favorite place to haunt.. Or well it was her favorite in some years depending who the prefect was. But this year, oh this year was the best year yet.

She watched from her hideaway as a tall slender figure walked into the steamy room, making her catch her nonexistent breath. His hair was just as bright as she remembered it, all fire glow, but longer now, caught up in a ponytail tied off with a bit of leather at the base of his neck. And as he removed the band and let it fall to his shoulders, she thought she'd might swoon.

She watched the downward sweep of the hair and got distracted by the broad chest dusted with freckles, strong biceps and forearms and large hands. He was lean too, not overly stocky or muscular as it would seem his brother, Charlie would be, but more wiry. Those hands dropped to the towel at his waist and Myrtle covered her eyes with her own hands, suppressing a squeal.

Then a splash of water, and she peeked through her fingers to see that he was in the water leaning back against the rim of the heated pool, head resting upon it so she could see the profile of his face. And what a face it was. Oh, if only she were alive, she thought with regret, and then she found she couldn't fight the sob from escaping her. Even if she had been alive, Bill would have _never _been interested in her. She was too young, now, and she'd never been pretty, and Olive had told her of her many many faults, many of which she thought true.

His voice interrupted her musings, alerted by the small sound of grief. "Myrtle, is that you?" the voice had deepened over the years, but had that squeak (a product of disbelief and shock, not that she knew that) she thought of so fondly.

"You caught me," she giggled as she floated into view.

"What.. What are you doing here?" he sunk lower into the water.

She thought back to the day she'd met him and smiled. "Hiding. You did say you'd repay the favor right?" His face almost matched his hair and Myrtle found it most becoming. She tilted her head as if listening for something and then said "Well! Seems the game is over. I'll leave you to your bathing. Until next time, Bill!" And then she dived into the water and she glimpsed that he had hurriedly covered himself. A shame, that. And down the drain she went leaving Bill wondering what _exactly _she meant by 'until next time.' Also that perhaps he would have to change the definition of his fear again. He was no longer afraid of just ghosts that were girls that cried, but rather ghosts that were girls that cried and were secretly voyeurs instead.


End file.
